


Inbox

by alterocentrist



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alterocentrist/pseuds/alterocentrist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura, a fourth-year student at Silas University, needs to pass a philosophy class in order to complete her graduation requirements. Instantly repelled by the codified navel-gazings of pretentious dead men, Laura is struggling to find the class interesting. Which is why she's resorted to asking a stranger on Tumblr for help. (Inspired by You've Got Mail.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Philosophy involves so much navel-gazing, doesn't it?

Slide after slide flickered by on the projector screen. Or they might as well have, the way Laura’s concentration was holding up. She blinked her eyes rapidly to readjust her focus and made sure that her jaw hadn’t been hanging open for the last ten minutes.

The current slide displayed a black and white photograph of a man wearing a frayed cravat, tufts of curly hair sprouting from the sides of his mostly bald head. Laura looked down at her notes. There was nothing she had absentmindedly jotted down that could possibly point to this man’s identity.

She tuned in to what her lecturer was saying: “... we can definitely say that Mill was one of the first philosophers to conceptualise our current political understanding of liberalism.”

 _Mill_. Laura wrote it down. She tried her best to listen to the remainder of the lecture, writing down as much as she could on John Stuart Mill and his ideas on liberty, on natural rights, and his problematic views on colonialism and slavery.

The lecture concluded and people began moving out of the theatre. Frowning, Laura packed her things away. She was frustrated. It was her penultimate semester at university. She was a media studies major with a stellar GPA and a great record of extracurricular activities. But she couldn’t graduate without filling her second humanities elective. And, to her eternal misfortune, the only course that she was eligible for and that fit into her schedule was PHIL 239: Power and Political Thought.

It wasn’t that the course itself was awful. Their lecturer wasn’t just excellent, but warm and passionate and lacked the air of pretentiousness that Laura dreaded when it came to academics. There were about sixty other people in class, making it relatively small, and so far, none of the discussions had made her want to tear her hair out. What was making her want to do that was the content itself. There were so many questions, and not enough answers.

What was philosophy even for?

Even _that_ question involved philosophy, and Laura doubted that she had the patience to get all metaphilosophical.

* * *

Thankfully, after her Tuesday philosophy lecture, Laura had an hour to grab something to eat. Before heading off for a three-hour shift at the information commons, she picked up a hot chocolate from the nearby café. She worked at the printing station, which was probably one of the cruisiest on-campus jobs. Unless the university’s network was having a meltdown, Laura didn’t have to do much but to make sure that the printers are always stocked with paper, keep track of how many ink and toner cartridges need to be ordered, and to call the technicians if any of the equipment broke down. It was easy money for four shifts a week.

Laura’s other major responsibility was to handle the printing and photocopying done by the staff that was charged to departmental accounts. Again, it wasn’t an unpleasant task. Most of the lecturers who came by were friendly enough and struck up eccentric conversations while waiting for their printing to finish, and she always got into solidarity chats over how hard university is with the teaching assistants. Based on the horror stories she heard from other people who worked on campus, her situation could be much worse.

She had just returned behind her desk after giving a first-year a crash course on how to operate the printers, when a dark-haired woman wearing a black dress strode in. Her regal, angular face twisted into a smirk when she spotted Laura. It was Carmilla.

“Great,” Laura muttered under her breath. Okay, she liked all of the TAs who did their printing and photocopying—except for one. And _she_ happened to be walking towards her right now.

“Missed me, buttercup?” Carmilla asked.

Laura resisted the urge to roll her eyes at one of Carmilla’s stupid names for her. “Killing even more trees today, Carmilla?” she asked.

“The trees are already dead,” Carmilla retorted. She handed Laura a flash drive. “It’s called ‘Worksheet Tutorial 3’. Forty-four copies, please.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Laura said. _Forty-four_ students! That was probably one of the bigger numbers she heard this semester. Laura made a mental note to never become a TA. “Seriously, though. You’re here, like, every day.”

“Nah, only when my favourite printing station attendant is around.”

“I guess I should be flattered that I’m your favourite.” But she really wasn’t.

“Yeah, nobody ever seems to regard me with disdain as you do,” Carmilla said. “Honestly, it makes me feel pretty special.”

Laura sighed and just got on with her work. _That_ was why. She hated to admit it, but Carmilla was attractive, and she was the kind of person who knew just how attractive she was. Too bad that this probably contributed to her being an obnoxious and a generally unpleasant person.

Carmilla leaned over the desk, making a show of peering at Laura’s work terminal. “Don’t forget to charge it to the department of philosophy!” she teased.

“ _I_ _know_ ,” Laura said, not even bothering to look at Carmilla. The fact that she was a TA for a discipline that Laura was not having fun in did not win her any points. Once the job was finished, Laura placed the handouts in a plastic sleeve that Carmilla slid across the desk for her.

Carmilla took the stack of handouts and smiled at Laura, as if she hadn’t been on the receiving end of Laura’s bad vibes for the last five minutes. “Thanks, buttercup,” she said. “See you real soon.”

“All right!” There were students inside the printing station, so Laura forced a smile, and continued through gritted teeth: “I’m _not_ looking forward to it.”

* * *

It was 5:15pm by the time Laura walked out of the information commons. She quickened her pace as she crossed campus to one of the smaller cafés by the School of Humanities. She could feel herself relaxing as she entered and saw Danny seated at their usual table, an untouched slice of pie and two cups of tea already laid out in front of her.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Laura said as she placed her things on the floor and sat down across from Danny. “Perry asked me to take the recycled paper down to the sheds just before my shift ended.”

Danny looked up from the reader that she was annotating and beamed. “That’s okay! I kinda just got here too,” she said. “Look, tea’s still hot.”

“Great,” Laura said. “Thanks for this.”

“You’re welcome,” Danny said. “How was work?”

Laura shrugged. “The usual.” She stirred sugar in her tea. “What about you? How’s being a TA?”

“I wish I could say that it’s great, but… first-years send the dumbest emails.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re not that bad.”

Danny shook her head. “No, Laura, you don’t understand,” she said. “Some of it is the most obtuse shit I’ve ever seen in my life. You know, high school teachers have a lot to answer for. These kids come to university way too coddled.”

“It’s still good money.” Laura had a forkful of cherry pie. “I’m not looking forward to when deadline season arrives though. Imagine how many crying first-years I’d have to deal with when printers stop working for whatever reason.”

“And then you’ll understand what I say about them being dumb,” Danny said.

“Who knew you could be so unkind?” Laura joked.

“I’m not being unkind,” Danny said. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. I like the teaching part of being a TA, I just don’t like the part where they talk to me like I’m the babysitter who’s supposed to hold their hand through this transition from high school to university. Didn’t they come here to get their first taste of independence?”

“Well, independence can be bitter. Can’t blame them for being scared.”

Danny rolled her eyes. “Don’t I know it,” she said. “But at the same time, it’s pretty great! No teachers breathing down your neck, no oddly specific grading rubrics… you don’t even have to turn up to class! University is a great way to test out whether you can handle being a somewhat functioning adult, and some of these students are _failing_.”

“I don’t think I could’ve survived my first year without my TAs, though,” Laura said. “They were just so reassuring, and I wasn’t even the kind of first-year who incessantly emails them.”

Danny’s expression relaxed. Her blue eyes shone as they met Laura’s. “I somehow find that very hard to believe, Hollis,” she said.

Laura broke eye contact by drinking her tea. “Which reminds me, I should probably go to my TA’s office hours this week,” she said. “I’m scared that I’ll fall behind in this one class.”

“Oh?” Danny swallowed a bite of pie. “Which one?”

“The political philosophy class that I need to take for my humanities elective,” Laura said.

Danny cringed. “Sounds like a bore,” she said. “You should’ve taken the Russian literature course instead. I know the TA for that one.”

“Yeah, I wish, but it didn’t fit in with my media papers,” Laura said. “And the class isn’t boring. The lecturer is pretty great, actually.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “It’s just… philosophy involves so much navel-gazing, doesn’t it?”

“It does!” Danny laughed. “No, you’re right, it totally does. I took two philosophy courses in undergrad and I enjoyed them both a lot, though.”

“ _How_?”

“I read the books. From the library,” Danny replied simply. “Like, having the actual, physical weight in my hands made me feel how important this ‘navel-gazing’ actually is. Once you get past the self-importance and the florid language you see that these are explanations that people have tried to give on how the world works. I mean, we wouldn’t be studying them if they weren’t important, right?”

“Right.” Laura nodded. “So your advice to me is to read the books.”

“ _Yeah_.” A firm assurance snuck into Danny’s tone. “Go to the library, and read the books. Feel those covers in your hands, those yellowed pages? I think you’d find it a more engaging experience than just reading off a photocopied reader or a PDF.”

* * *

Laura figured that it was worth a try.

After an hour or so of conversation, Danny excused herself to attend a Summer Society meeting, and Laura, who was just going to take the bus back to her apartment, decided to go to the library. She walked back and forth amidst the floor to ceiling shelves of philosophy texts when she found what she was looking for: _The Collected Works of John Stuart Mill_.

She pulled the book out from its place on the shelf. It clearly hadn’t been moved in ages, for a small cloud of dust was expelled. She thought about how the book felt in her hands. The caked on dust on the cover felt unpleasant on her palms. She flicked through the pages. Even under the stark fluorescent light, the text was too grainy, the print too small.

If this was the _engaging_ experience that Danny valued so much, then Laura was totally not suited for philosophy. She reshelved the book. She’d try again another day. She had to, if she wanted to graduate. But right now, she just wanted to go home.

* * *

The apartment was quiet when she arrived. This wasn’t unusual; her roommate, chemistry major Betty, was, for a lack of a better word, uptight. They met through a girl Laura had dated briefly towards the end of first year. Although Betty wasn’t what Laura called a friend back then, she knew that she made the right choice when she accepted Betty’s offer to rent the second room at an off-campus apartment halfway through their second year. She was clean, quiet, and unobtrusive. She was only ever home to sleep, eat and shower.

“Bets?” Laura called out. “I’m home!”

Betty’s bedroom door creaked open, and her head—blonde hair tied into a bun—poked out. “Hey, Laura,” she said. “I’ve got to finish this fifteen-page report by midday tomorrow, so is it okay if I don’t sit with you for dinner? The pasta bake’s keeping warm in the oven. I already ate.”

“That’s totally fine,” Laura said. She could count the number of times that she and Betty sat together for dinner on one hand. “Thanks for cooking.”

“Well,” Betty shrugged, “it was my turn. Okay, I better get back to my report.”

Laura raised her hand in an awkward wave. “All right, see you on the other side.” She watched Betty shut her door and listened to the telltale sounds of the chair scraping back, followed by frantic typing. Just another weekday at Chez Spielsdorf and Hollis.

She fixed herself a bowl of the pasta bake and ate in silence. When she finished, she put her dishes away and loaded the dishwasher. She took a shower before finally settling at her desk to start readings for her other classes.

Just under an hour later, Laura fired up her laptop to do a cursory check of her email. Nothing there. She checked her Facebook and Twitter. Same old, same old. And against her better judgment, she went on Tumblr. She scrolled down past the usual: fandom GIFsets, social justice, book quotes, pretentious photographs of flowers…

She reblogged a cool piece of _Orphan Black_ fanart. Seconds later, a notification popped up on the corner of her dashboard: _foucaultofyou reblogged your post_.

Foucault? That name was familiar. Laura dug through the pile of papers on her desk until she found the syllabus for PHIL 239. Under the required reading list was a chapter from _Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison_ —by Michel Foucault!

Intrigued, Laura clicked to open foucaultofyou’s blog in a new tab. The theme was simple, even austere. On the sidebar was a black and white photograph of a short-haired, middle-aged woman in a leather jacket. The description below read: _23\. Lesbian. Austria. I like philosophy and TV. When I grow up, I want to be half as cool as Judith Butler._

Laura browsed the blog. It was mostly stills of artsy independent films, photographs of cityscapes and graffitied walls, and GIFsets from popular television shows. Under #thoughts were multiple text posts of moderate length. The first one was entitled “ _Orphan Black_ : a showcase in Foucauldian Biopower”. The rest of the posts seemed equally pretentiously titled, but they were well-written and the philosophy _actually_ made sense.

After reading “The patriarchal panopticon of _Pretty Little Liars_ ”, Laura made her decision. She clicked on the link to foucaultofyou’s ask box. She flexed her fingers as the page loaded. And then she typed:

_Hi there! I think we’ve been following each other for a while, but your url caught my eye today so I decided to check your blog out further. I thought your posts on the philosophy in TV shows and films were super interesting. I was wondering if you could help me out with this philosophy course I’m taking at university. I’m struggling with the fiddly bits at the moment and the midterm is next week…_

Laura sent the message and willed herself to turn her attention back to her readings. Twenty minutes later, she refreshed her Tumblr and there was a message in her inbox. “Oh god.” With bated breath, she clicked on the envelope.

It was a reply from foucaultofyou:

_Hey there. What kind of philosophy are you doing in class? I was a philosophy major in undergrad but now my thesis is purely concentrated on political philosophy, so I guess that’s my specialisation. But as long as it’s not philosophical logic (my weakness, I admit), I’m happy to help you._

Jackpot. Laura grinned at her laptop screen as she thought of what to say. If this goes well, then she might never have to step inside the philosophy section of the university library again.


	2. Sorry, that level of communication is way too close for comfort.

“Now, I hope all of you remembered to submit the first of your reading responses sometime before midday today, because your TAs are going to want that back to you before the midterm in week six,” Professor Hoskins told the one hundred and fifty or so first-year philosophy students in front of her. “Thank you for coming to today’s lecture, I had a fun time, and I will see you all on Wednesday.”

As soon as the professor concluded, the students hurriedly packed their bags before practically stampeding out of the lecture hall. Hoskins turned to Carmilla and the other two teaching assistants. “I didn’t hit them that hard with the Descartes, did I?” she asked.

Carmilla and the other TAs shrugged and muttered.

“Ah well,” Hoskins said. “I’m looking forward to see who sticks around the department. How did the three of you ever manage?”

“Brute force,” Carmilla replied, while the other two shrugged again. “I better get going. Good lecture, though!” She slung her bag over her shoulder and took the stairs up to the doors two at a time. She walked through the courtyard, barely registering the autumn chill, and entered the School of Humanities. The dark-haired guy sitting behind the reception counter looked expectantly at her.

“Carmilla,” he said. “Like clockwork.”

“Hey, Willy boy,” Carmilla said. “Got anything for me?”

Will stuck his hand in a small shelf off to the side of the counter and pulled out a stack of papers. “These were all the ones who indicated that you’re their TA.” He smirked. “How unfortunate for them, really.”

“You got that right.” Carmilla took the papers from Will and slid them inside her bag. She was the last person that anyone would expect to become a TA, but she honestly enjoyed it. She wasn’t the type to enjoy talking and interacting with people on a regular basis, but when it involved getting the chance to lord her expertise… well, she wasn’t going to pass that up, was she?

“Mom just got in town. Are you coming to dinner tomorrow night?” Will hesitated before continuing. “She says you never reply to her messages.”

And that was her cue to leave. “Tell her I’m busy,” Carmilla said. “Thanks for sorting the assignments, chump.” She walked away from him and headed to the elevators.

“Tell her that yourself!” Will hollered after her. But Carmilla knew that he was going to pass the message on anyway. He’d been doing that for the last year.

She got onto an elevator and pressed the floor for the department of philosophy. Their floor was mostly empty this time of day. She made herself a cup of coffee and headed to the office that she shared with the other TAs for PHIL 101. She set up her laptop on her desk and proofread a critical reflection that she wrote for her class in European continental philosophy. Afterwards, she looked at her emails and made a note on which students needed an urgent reply.

Carmilla was usually a focused worker when it came down to the wire—after all, she didn’t earn eligibility for the masters programme if she was always lazy. But at that moment, she wasn’t keen to start grading the reading responses that were sitting in her bag. So she did what any procrastinating student would do. She went on Tumblr.

There was a message from jane-craig, a response to Carmilla’s reply to her initial message. It read:

_OMG thanks so much!! This is so wonderful! This is for a political philosophy class. So far we’ve done stuff on the agency and freedoms afforded to human beings as individuals. It’s not that the class is bad, it’s just that the material can be so dense and confusing and I’m finding it really hard to be enthusiastic about learning :( I’ve tried reading the source material like my friend suggested but it just made things worse :(_

Carmilla couldn’t help but smile at the message. This girl sounded cute, and she sounded like she genuinely wanted to understand philosophy, not just pass the class. Carmilla typed her response:

_This sounds right up my alley. Hey, Tumblr’s messaging system sucks, so do you have anything else I can message you on?_

Wait. Before jumping the gun, Carmilla opened jane-craig’s blog in a new tab. She clicked around to find the description. She was sure she read it last night, but it didn’t have her full attention. jane-craig’s avatar was a woman with an awful 1980s haircut. Probably someone from an old, obscure movie.

_Media nerd. 21. Currently attending SilasU. I probably like women more than I like cookies—and that’s saying something!_

Carmilla froze. jane-craig, whoever she was, attended her university. Was it such a good idea to start communicating with her outside of Tumblr, especially if it meant revealing her identity? What if it was someone she had hooked up with before?

She deleted the last sentence, and instead, typed: _I’d definitely love to help. What level is this course for, by the way? (Just gauging the kind of depth we need to get into.) Tell me more about the philosophers and the theories that you’ve talked about._

She pressed send and drank her coffee, silently congratulating herself on averting what could have been a potential crisis.

* * *

After her ethics lecture, Carmilla dropped by the information commons. It was late afternoon on a Friday, and most students were already getting ready for whatever their Friday night plans were so the commons were almost deserted. She would have gone back to her office, or the lounge reserved for grad students, but she had to admit that she enjoyed, in small amounts, the relatively relaxed vibe among undergraduates. Sometimes being stuck in a room with jaded twentysomethings trying to outsmart each other while jacked up on overpriced, over-extracted coffee gave a whole new meaning to _suffocating_.

The information commons also had something none of the grad-only spaces had: beanbags. She found an empty one near a shelf of magazines and plopped down on it, spreading her limbs in all directions possible. Carmilla was a pretty tiny girl, but she loved her space. She stretched some more then relaxed her muscles, feeling relaxation flood her body. She _really_ loved her –

“Oh _crap_!”

Carmilla hastily retracted her legs as a figure in denim and oxford blue landed on the floor with a thud. She leaned forward, her arms reaching out instinctually. “Shit, I’m so sor–”

“Seriously? It’s _you_.” Printing Station Girl propped herself up on her arms. “Of course. It had to be you.”

“Hey, buttercup,” Carmilla said. Of course it had to be _her_.

Printing Station Girl got up and dusted herself off. She looked down at Carmilla on the beanbag, her face contorting in irritation. “ _Buttercup_? That’s all you have to say to me?”

“I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”

“I’m _fine_.”

Carmilla smirked; she couldn’t help it. “Then we’re good here, right?”

“Jeez, what made you think that it was a _good_ idea to slack off near where people are walking?” Obviously, they weren’t good.

“I said I was sorry,” Carmilla said. “I don’t know what else you want from me.”

Printing Station Girl huffed as she ran her fingers through her hair. “Nothing. I don’t want anything. Just,” she huffed again, “keep your legs to yourself!”

“Got it, buttercup.”

“My name is _Laura_.”

Carmilla looked her dead in the eye and said, very seriously: “Okay, good for you, but I didn’t ask for that information,” she said. “Or are we exchanging insurance details now for your little accident here?”

“God, I don’t wanna talk to you anymore,” Laura said. She stormed off back towards the printing station.

“Aww, but I thought we were going to have a heart to heart!” Carmilla called out.

Laura didn’t even look back.

* * *

Carmilla lived in a studio apartment in a newish apartment building up the road from campus. When she first moved into it, she found the furnishings topnotch, but it was too sterile. No character. But it had everything she needed, and it was what she could afford.

She was sitting at her extremely tiny dining table—which also doubled as a study desk—answering student emails on her laptop when there was a knock on her door. She got up to answer it.

“Hi, Carmilla!” It was Elsie, the perky, hypermotivated blonde who lived in a studio down the hall. Despite it being a chilly evening, Elsie stood there in a tank top and leggings, her gym bag hanging casually on her shoulder. “I just got back from the gym,” she said, gesturing at her outfit.

“Clearly,” Carmilla said. Elsie had a way of stating the obvious. “You look good.”

“ _Clearly_ ,” Elsie echoed, winking at Carmilla. “Anyway, I was just wondering what you were doing tonight.”

“Just… hanging around, mostly,” Carmilla replied. “Catch up on the TV shows I’ve missed.”

“Ah, you and your _heavy TA workload_ ,” Elsie mocked. She placed her hand on her hip. “But seriously, Carmilla, there’s a party tonight at The Anglerfish. That cute guy Theo is apparently DJing.”

“You mean the Zeta dudebro who seems to have avoided graduation for as long as I have been at university? No thanks.” Carmilla never got a taste for student nightlife, especially if it involved people who didn’t seem capable of moving on from this time of their lives—literally _and_ figuratively—and _especially_ if it was going to be at The Anglerfish. There was a reason university bars had an awful reputation.

“Oh, come on, it’s going to be fun!”

“Maybe next time, sweetheart,” Carmilla said.

Elsie pouted. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“Sure, fine,” Carmilla said. “Have fun.” She waited for Elsie to start turning away before she shut her door. She returned to the table and finished her student email before deciding to load up the episode of _Hannibal_ that she needed to catch up on.

After the episode ended, she went on Tumblr with the intention of browsing the Hannibal tag when she saw that she had a new message in her inbox.

* * *

**jane-craig said:**

It’s a 2nd year course titled Power and Political Thought. Right now we’re doing stuff on John Stuart Mill and it’s just going over my head. I really can’t thank you enough for helping me with this!

**foucaultofyou:**

I don’t blame you. I remember when I first encountered Mill back in undergrad. He’s a bore. His theories are too contradictory, too simplistic, too ignorant of existing structures that dictate human agency. I think his concept of natural rights assumes that these rights are organic… Sorry if I’m babbling. I can tell you that Mill is somewhat necessary for a decent foundation in political philosophy though. So… what exactly about his philosophy are you unclear with?

* * *

**jane-craig said:**

Urgh, I wish Tumblr’s messaging system was better for this sort of thing. I don’t really think in paragraphs. More like short bursts. Is it okay if we have a conversation about this? I think that would help me articulate my problems better. Do you have WhatsApp or something I can message you on?

* * *

Shit.

Carmilla flexed her fingers, racking her brain for a good response. “Sorry, I don’t know how to instant message”? “Sorry, my mom said don’t talk to strangers on the internet”? “Sorry, I just realised I have better things to do than tutor someone on Tumblr”?

“Sorry, that level of communication is way too close for comfort.”

jane-craig from Silas University is _way_ too close for comfort.

But this was the internet age. Everyone had their reasons for staying private, right?

“Ah, fuck it.” And so she responded.

_I don’t use WhatsApp. I do have Telegram that I use for work purposes, mainly. I’m gonna set a public username so you can find me. It’ll be the same as my tumblr URL._

* * *

**jane-craig said:**

Awesome, I’ve got Telegram as well! I was willing to install WhatsApp, but this is even better. My username is workswithpens. Talk soon I hope!

* * *

It was drizzling on Sunday afternoon as Carmilla walked to campus to run errands. The university was quiet, the wet and cold weather having deterred the usual Sunday crowd. Carmilla went to the library to pick up some books that she needed for her thesis research. From there, she walked to the information commons.

The printing station just had to be the most populated place on campus. Of course. Students stood idly, waiting for their turn on one of the machines. Carmilla sighed. She couldn’t put this off; she had no choice but to wait. She picked up bits of conversation from the attendant’s desk.

“Thanks so much for this, Laura. You’re a _lifesaver_.”

Carmilla craned her neck and discovered that the source of the eyeroll-worthy gushing was a freakishly tall redhead whom she recognised as one of the TAs for the English department. The redhead had her back to Carmilla, but Carmilla could clearly see who she was talking to—Printing Station Girl, a whole foot shorter, starry-eyed and beaming.

“Don’t worry about it! It’s my job,” Laura was saying.

“Still,” the redhead said. “It means a lot, okay?”

Carmilla resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She watched the redhead place a small stack of papers—too small for anything that would be charged to the English department—in her backpack before zipping it and slinging it over one shoulder.

“I’ll see you soon, all right? Text me,” she told Laura.

“Of course,” Laura said. She waved too enthusiastically. “Bye!”

Once the redhead left the printing station, Carmilla gave up her place in the vague line of students to walk over to the attendant’s desk. “Hey,” she greeted Laura, who was focused on the computer screen.

“Hey, I’ll be with you in just a sec.” Laura finished what she was doing, then before looking up, continued, “So, how can I help –” Her face fell when she realised that she was talking to Carmilla. “It’s you again.”

“I _do_ attend this university,” Carmilla said.

“How can I help you?” Laura asked again, in a flatter voice.

Carmilla leaned over the table and lowered her voice. “Listen, I know that you let your girlfriend use the staff machine,” she nodded at the printer-photocopier behind Laura’s desk, “for her personal stuff so she didn’t have to line up like everyone else. Any chance you’d do the same for me?”

Laura’s eyes widened. “First of all, Danny’s not my girlfriend. And second of all, no.”

“Now, that’s favouritism. I’m a TA, too.”

“Yeah, but Danny’s my friend.”

“All right, you’re doing favours for your friends while on the clock,” Carmilla said. “I get it.”

“Wait – Hang o– What –” Laura sputtered. She took a deep breath. “Excuse me, but I rang the job up on _her_ account, so yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have let her cut in line, but she didn’t spend any money but her own.”

“Jesus, you’re so defensive,” Carmilla said. “Come on. I just need to photocopy these pages to read before class tomorrow.”

“Why didn’t you just go to the postgraduate lounge?”

“Why didn’t _Danny_?” Carmilla didn’t want to admit that she forgot her lounge entry card at home.

Laura wrinkled her nose. “Fine,” she spat. “But just this once.”

“After this kind of customer service? I’m never coming back.” Carmilla smirked as Laura gestured for her to follow her behind the desk. She operated the machine as slowly as possible, her amusement growing as she could feel Laura’s impatience starting to envelope the small space they were in.

When every bit of paper was tucked into a folder, Carmilla gave Laura her details so she could ring the transaction up on her account. Laura worked at the computer, seemingly relieved that the experience was over. “That was three dollars and twenty cents,” she told Carmilla.

“Fantastic,” Carmilla said dryly. “Thanks, buttercup. I owe you one.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

With a small snort, Carmilla walked away. She’d let Laura have the last word this time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy about the positive response to the first chapter. I hope you like this second one! In case you didn't catch it, Laura's Tumblr URL is a reference to the character Holly Hunter plays in Broadcast News, and her Telegram username is a reference to a line one of the journalists said on The Newsroom.


	3. Consider it a random act of kindness.

**workswithpens**  
Hi there! I know it’s early but it’s quiet at work and I’m bored so I decided to check in... I’ve got my philosophy tutorial later on. Last one before the midterm tomorrow. I’m actually kind of excited! Your help was so valuable.

 **foucaultofyou**  
Wow, slow down with the perkiness, cupcake. It’s nowhere near close to midday. But. You’re welcome. I’m glad to hear that you’re looking forward to taking a test. Weirdo.

 **workswithpens**  
Sorry. I may have had too much sugar. Anyway, what are you up to?

 **foucaultofyou**  
Still in bed. Don’t have class until 2pm.

 **workswithpens**  
Lucky you!

* * *

Laura put her phone down on the desk as Perry walked into the printing station, being her usual flustered self. Perry was a second-year masters student in German history who was one of the two part-time managers of the information commons. She was incapable of being intimidating. Instead, her authority stemmed from her anxious, obsessive personality.

“Laura, hi.” She shuffled over to the attendant’s desk. “The toner delivery just got pushed back to two PM. Have we got enough to tide us over till then?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Laura replied. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re not gonna be here to sign off the delivery, are you?”

“No, my shift finishes at eleven,” Laura said. “Kirsch is on after me, maybe he can handle it before he signs off.”

Perry made a face. “I’ll probably just text Mel. She’s working the two PM.”

“It’s _toner_ , Perry, it’s not gonna go missing,” Laura said. “You need to have a little more faith.”

“Faith must be earned, Laura. You just don’t get it by sheer force of will.”

Laura shook her head. “I think that’s exactly how you get it.”

Perry waved her off. “We’ll agree to disagree,” she said, before uttering a quick goodbye and going off to do the rest of her rounds around the information commons.

Laura snorted to herself before picking up her phone to read a new message from foucaultofyou: _I wouldn’t call myself lucky. It’s never a good idea to do your masters. I’m dreading getting out of bed._

 _But life is so exciting!_ Laura smiled as she typed the next sentence: _Shouldn’t we rejoice in the possibility of the unknown?_

The last few days felt significant to her. Initially, it felt a bit strange to be discussing such an intense topic with a stranger over the internet. Especially if said stranger was practically an expert on the topic. But foucaultofyou, who seemed distant and intimidating, was an excellent conversationalist. She seemed a little cold, and snarky, but she replied to Laura’s messages without making Laura feel like she was being a bother. As far as philosophy tutors go, she could have done much worse.

* * *

**workswithpens**  
Machiavelli. Better to be feared than loved. Right?

 **foucaultofyou**  
That’s right.

 **workswithpens**  
That’s crap. Won’t your subjects be less likely to defect if you’re somewhat benevolent?

 **foucaultofyou**  
I think ruling your subjects with an iron fist is a sure way for them not to defect.

 **workswithpens**  
Sounds like an awful way to do things.

 **foucaultofyou**  
That is true. It does work for North Korea, though. And my mother. I was in university when I realised that she was very Machiavellian.

 **workswithpens**  
That's the strangest thing I've ever heard anyone say about their mother.

 **foucaultofyou**  
Obviously, I have mommy issues. I apologise. I have a tendency of projecting it onto my academic work.

 **workswithpens**  
Nah, I’m with you on the mommy issues. My mother ran out when I was 12. We don’t really have a relationship.

 **foucaultofyou**  
Sorry to hear that.

 **workswithpens**  
It’s cool. I turned out fine. What Machiavelli says about what makes a good ruler has got nothing to do with what makes a good parent, though. Or what makes a good person in general.

 **foucaultofyou**  
So, what you’re trying to say is… power corrupts. Old news.

 **workswithpens**  
Yeah, I know. At the same time, I think someone can become a better person when they learn how to honestly ask for forgiveness, and how to wholeheartedly forgive. Is that something a philosopher has said before?

 **foucaultofyou**  
Only if you count Jesus Christ as a philosopher. Then, yes.

* * *

“Earth to Carmilla!”

Carmilla lifted her gaze from her laptop screen to Elsie, who was holding a cup of coffee. “Hey.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.” Carmilla gestured to the seat across her. “Go ahead.”

Elsie sat down and placed her phone on the table. She absentmindedly scrolled through Instagram. “Oh my god, the party on Friday was super great,” she said. “You really missed out.” She turned her phone screen towards Carmilla. “Check out this photo! Isn’t it wild?”

“Yeah, totally,” Carmilla said, not even looking at the screen.

“Carmilla! You need to get out more,” Elsie said.

“No way. I’ll never be able to get anything done. Too many cheerful blondes”

“Yes, but I’m the only cheerful blonde who got you to promise to come to a party.”

“Hang on.” Carmilla’s attention was on Elsie now. “When did I do that?”

“Friday night, remember?” Elsie giggled. “Oh, Carmilla. Can I cash that promise in?”

“Must you really?” Carmilla sighed.

“Next Friday the Summer Society are having a party,” Elsie said. “We hired out a proper club and everything. It’s gonna be awesome. Please come.”

“Elsie –”

“Hey, I’m giving you enough notice, so you’ve got to come now.” Elsie widened her eyes. “For me?”

“All right,” Carmilla relented.

“Great!” Elsie clapped her hands. “We’ll have so much fun, I promise.”

“I doubt that.”

“Don’t be so sour. It’s not a good look on you,” Elsie said.

Carmilla’s scowl deepened in response.

“Okay, it’s a _great_ look on you. But we have a bar tab. I can’t tell you how much, but it’s pretty huge.”

“I have to admit that makes things seems a little less dire,” Carmilla said, and she mostly meant it. Sometimes she just needed to have a little fun.

* * *

**foucaultofyou**  
Hey, I just remembered that you had that paper coming up, but I just wanna let you know in advance that I probably won’t be able to chat the Friday before it’s due. And probably half the day on the Saturday. I’m getting dragged to a party.

 **workswithpens**  
That’s perfectly fine… I was planning to get the bulk of the work done this weekend anyway. Also, don’t even pretend that you’re not gonna enjoy that party. You’re predicting that it’ll fill up a chunk of your Saturday.

 **foucaultofyou**  
I drink away the boredom and need most of the next day to wallow in regret.

 **workswithpens**  
Wait. What kind of party? Like, the pretentious grad student kind where you wear all black and talk about Rousseau, or the undergrad kind with really bad dubstep and fluorescent cocktails?

 **foucaultofyou**  
The latter. And I’m not sure if you can call coloured, watered down syrup a “cocktail”.

 **workswithpens**  
Anything is a cocktail if it’s “watered down” with gin or vodka.

 **foucaultofyou**  
You may be onto something there.

 **foucaultofyou**  
By the way, I’ve been a masters student for six weeks and I haven’t caught wind of any of these Rousseau parties that you’ve mentioned.

 **workswithpens**  
Did it occur to you that you might have not been invited? Maybe it’s like an exclusive thing.

 **foucaultofyou**  
Please. Academics are a crowd of mismatched workaholics, not some secret society.

 **workswithpens**  
Ah, so you have been invited!

 **foucaultofyou**  
There’s no secret society.

 **workswithpens**  
That’s exactly what a member of a secret society would say.

* * *

Laura celebrated surviving her philosophy midterm by inviting Danny for a coffee. They met in the courtyard outside the library and walked together to their usual café by the School of Humanities.

“Okay, so you’re telling me that for the last week, you’re getting philosophy tutoring from this girl you follow on Tumblr?” Danny asked. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Laura sighed. She knew she probably shouldn’t have told Danny so casually about her new friend. As a person, and as an academic, Danny was pretty set in her ways. But she _did_ ask how Laura’s midterm went—and was Laura going to lie about it when she felt positive about it? It wouldn’t have gone so well if she wasn’t getting help from this girl.

“Are you even sure that she’s a girl?” Danny shook her head. “More importantly, are you even sure that she’s a philosophy grad student? Maybe she’s just going on Wikipedia or something and passing it off as her own pretentious drivel. Which is probably wrong. So you probably wrote incorrect drivel in your midterm.”

“Danny, you’re exaggerating,” Laura said. “She sent me PDFs of these handouts that were actually really helpful. And I’ve read those Wikipedia pages god knows how many times. I think I’d know if she was just regurgitating the same information.”

“But you don’t even _know_ her, Laura.”

Laura shrugged. “Well, she’s a more engaging experience than reading _The Collected Works of John Stuart Mill_ ,” she said. “What’s important is I walked into that midterm feeling like I know stuff. I’m pretty confident I aced that exam. Maybe not with flying colours. But I aced it.”

“It’s your funeral,” Danny said. “Just tell me you at least have an idea of what she looks like.”

“Well.” Laura had no clue. “You got me there.” She waved off Danny’s slightly incredulous expression. “Oh, come on. She probably has a selfie tag or something.”

“A _what_?”

“A tag of selfies on her Tumblr,” Laura said. She made a mental note to check that out later. When Danny still looked confused, she continued: “People like archiving their faces. It’s fun, probably. You need to get with the times.”

Danny laughed. “Between studying, work, and the Summers, I have no time for that kind of fun stuff, Hollis. You know that.”

“Yeah. I know.” Laura was eager to drop the subject, so she was relieved that they had reached the café. As they entered, she noticed Carmilla, who appeared to be deep in conversation with a blonde girl at the table in the back corner. The girl’s fingers were tracing up and down Carmilla’s right forearm, the skin of which was exposed because the sleeve of her top was pushed up to her elbow. Laura noticed that the girl was doing most of the talking. Carmilla was hanging on to her every word. Or at least, she appeared to be.

“You’re getting a hot chocolate, right?” Danny’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Laura?”

Laura turned back to her. “Yeah, I am,” she said. “Actually, can we go to another café? Maybe something with a cupboard with better stuff than pie? I feel like trying something new today.”

“But,” Danny was frowning, “this place has the best hot chocolate on campus. They have those little marshmallows in them. And the pie is your favourite! Nothing else could beat that crust.”

“What’s life without a little variety, though?”

“Laura.” Danny’s sharp blue eyes searched her face. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Danny said. “C’mon, let’s get our drinks and we can talk about it. We don’t have to get pie if you really don’t want to.”

No more than five minutes later, they found a table and sat down with their drinks. Laura had a clear view of Carmilla and her friend. She hadn’t failed to notice that Carmilla’s left hand found its place under the table, resting on the girl’s knee. It looked like it was slowly inching upwards. Shameless. Watching Carmilla, and whatever she was getting up to, unsettled Laura in an inexplicable way.

“No, seriously, you’re zoning out today, Laura,” Danny said. “What’s up?”

Laura turned her attention back to Danny. “Nothing. One of the TAs that always comes by work is here, that’s all,” she said, before snidely adding, “My most _treasured_ client.” Her gaze, somehow, found its way back to Carmilla, who was too preoccupied with whatever seduction game she was playing to notice that Laura was staring.

“Who?” Danny turned to follow Laura’s gaze. “Surely you don’t mean that girl sitting with Elsie.”

“Elsie?”

“She’s in the Summer Society,” Danny explained. She gave Carmilla a once-over. “I didn’t know she was into people who still think goth is cool.”

“I don’t think she’s goth, exactly. Punk, perhaps? Or hipster...” Laura said. “But that’s besides the point.”

“Is she really giving you hell at work?” Danny asked.

“Someone who looks like _that_ … do you expect her to be giving me any less?” Laura said. “She’s wilfully rude and totally obnoxious. Jeez, you should advise Elsie to have better taste.”

“Well, that’s really none of my business, but I’ll ask her about it sometime. You know, just check in,” Danny said. She gave Carmilla one last look before turning back to face Laura. “Oh, I just realised who she is! Her brother’s one of those dickhead Zetas. She’s a pretty stuck-up TA, by the sounds of it. But I guess you kind of have to be to succeed in the humanities.”

“You’re not stuck up,” Laura said. “And if anything, she’s probably the reason why philosophy is the smallest department in humanities. Nothing like an awful TA to put you off the subject forever.”

* * *

**workswithpens**  
Can I ask you a weird question?

 **foucaultofyou**  
Sure thing.

 **workswithpens**  
What do you look like?

 **foucaultofyou**  
Um. Why?

 **workswithpens**  
Just asking. You don’t have a selfie tag on Tumblr. And I’m nosy.

 **foucaultofyou**  
Selfies are an unfortunate manifestation of millennial narcissism. Also: you don’t have a selfie tag either.

 **workswithpens**  
I don’t really take selfies. But not because of weird, self-hating, pseudopolitical reasons like yours. And I think I look pretty generic. Long hair, it’s like a weird blonde-brown colour. And hazel eyes. And I’m like, really, really short. I don’t like being reminded of it, though.

 **foucaultofyou**  
Cupcake, if that’s generic, then I don’t know what I am.

 **workswithpens**  
Do tell!

 **workswithpens**  
Please?

 **foucaultofyou**  
Curly black hair, brown eyes, I think I’m pretty short too. Not sure. But yeah... nothing to write home about.

 **workswithpens**  
So I couldn’t pick you out of a lineup?

 **foucaultofyou**  
Doubt it.

* * *

There was chaos in the printing station when Carmilla dropped by to do some photocopying. The printers seemed to be down, because the printing station attendant—not Carmilla’s favourite Printing Station Girl—was talking on the phone with a worried expression on his face. Carmilla was about to step inside when caught the waft of burning ink.

She cringed. Perhaps today she would print at the postgraduate student lounge and just get reimbursed later on.

She turned on her heel and headed to the exit of the information commons when a familiar head of golden brown hair rushed past her.

“Kirsch!” Carmilla heard Laura exclaim as she stumbled through the doorway of the printing station. “I got your text. Has the IT guy arrived?”

Her coworker’s reply was unintelligible.

“Oh god, what is _that_ smell?” Laura was saying. “Kirsch, chill out, all right? I’m gonna go call the printer tech.” And then her voice got louder as she addressed the students milling about inside the printing station, telling them that they needed somewhere else to go as the station would be indefinitely closed for repairs.

Carmilla made sure that she was out of the way before the frustrated mob came rushing out the doors. Suddenly, an idea came to her.

* * *

“Oh, _man_.” Laura sank into the chair behind the attendant’s desk, exhausted yet relieved that the printing station was back in working order. She sent Kirsch away with the IT guy half an hour ago, but had only just seen the printer technician off. She reopened the doors and saw that the information commons wasn’t too busy. Word spread fast on campus and there was probably a traffic jam at the library printers right now.

Laura was about to reach for her phone to send Perry a message about the status of the repairs when someone knocked on the doorjamb. “We’re open again,” she called out, before looking to see who it was.

“I see you saved the day.” Carmilla walked in. There was a hint of that arrogant smirk on her face, but she was carrying a takeaway cup which… appeared to be intended for Laura? Carmilla must have noticed the questioning look on Laura’s face, because she said: “Hot chocolate. I saw you at the café the other day with your gigantic girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfr–”

“Save it for the tabloids,” Carmilla interrupted. She carefully placed the cup on the desk. “After how you helped me last week, I did say I owed you one. It’s the best hot chocolate on campus. I even asked for extra marshmallows. I thought you’d like those.”

Carmilla didn’t even _know_ her. “Thanks,” she said coldly. “But I told you that you didn’t have to.”

“Consider it a random act of kindness,” Carmilla said.

“ _You’re_ capable of _kindness_?” Laura somewhat regretted it as soon as she said it, but it just came flying out.

If Carmilla was offended by what she said, she didn’t show it. “You would be surprised,” she responded. She took a deep breath, and her expression—bizarrely enough—softened. “Look, I know I take pride in being an asshole. But I came in earlier today and you almost crashed into me trying to get here so you could fix things. And you fixed them. I can’t even imagine how many undergrad jerks you have to deal with on top of dealing with me, so I’ve got lots of respect for you, buttercup. This is a thank you. And maybe also an apology.”

Laura made sure her jaw wasn’t dropping to the floor. Carmilla? _Grateful? Apologising?_ She swore she might have inhaled too much printer fumes.

“For fuck’s sake,” Carmilla spat. Her jaw was tense and she looked more like her usual self. “Fine, _Laura_ , printer fumes or not, I got you a hot chocolate. I’m congratulating you on a job well done. And I’m outta here.” With a sharp huff, she strode out of the printing station.

Crap. She didn’t mean to say that out loud. Laura got to her feet in an attempt to follow her. “Carmilla, wait!”

But Carmilla was already out the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm loving the comments, guys! I'm so glad that you're taking the time to tell me what you think about the story. I do make an effort to reply to every comment, but if you want to talk to me some more, my ask box is open on Tumblr (URL is alterocentrist.)
> 
> Once again, thanks to the girlfriend for helping me out with the social media posts. This fic wouldn't be half as fun without them. (If you haven't seen them, they're tagged #ygmau on my Tumblr.)


	4. Cryptic usernames, blogs and the surreptitious searching for selfies.

The waiter placed the steaming plates of food in front of them. “Enjoy your meal,” he said with a smile.

“Thanks,” Will said.

“Yeah, thank you,” Carmilla said.

As if on cue, they both picked up their cutlery and began to eat their food in silence. “This is nice,” Will eventually said. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

Carmilla’s reply was simple. “Because you’re a momma’s boy.” But she shrugged and added, “Doesn’t mean I don’t miss you, though.” She cared for her brother, even if he was always too understanding of their mother. He defended almost every horrible thing their mother had done, even if these horrible things were occasionally directed at him. Which meant that cutting ties with her mother meant distancing herself from him.

“Yeah. Same here, kitty,” Will said. “This risotto is good. Wanna try some?” He moved his arm aside, giving Carmilla space to access his plate.

“Sure,” Carmilla said. She reached forward and took a spoonful of Will’s risotto. It was delicious. “Try some of mine.”

Will looked at Carmilla’s plate, wrinkling his nose. “It’s got mushrooms in it.”

“C’mon, Willy boy. It’s not gonna kill you,” Carmilla said.

“Okay.” Will reached over to get a bite from Carmilla’s plate. “All right,” he said after swallowing the portion. “Yeah, that’s pretty good.”

“See! That’s what you could’ve missed out on if you hadn’t tried.” Carmilla was surprised at the tone of her voice. Since she moved out, she couldn’t remember the last time she had talked to Will like she was his nagging big sister, not just some condescending acquaintance. What also surprised her was how comfortable it felt. “How’s your semester going, by the way?”

Will shrugged. “It’s going all right, I guess,” he said. “I found out today that I got a B plus in one of my midterms. Cool, huh?” Will was in his third year studying finance, which their mother had pushed him into. He had never been the academic type, and was probably more invested in the social aspect of university. But someone had to take over the family business someday.

“Yeah, that is cool,” Carmilla said. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Uhm.” Will leaned back in his chair. “Sure?”

“Do you think I’m a kind person? Or a good person overall? Whatever. It’s a dumb question.”

“Whoa there. What brought this on?”

“Just something someone said,” Carmilla said vaguely. _Two_ someones, actually, but Will didn’t need to know that. First, was that thing jane-craig said about how being a good person meant knowing how to forgive and knowing how to ask for forgiveness. Second, was Printing Station Girl’s comment about her being incapable of kindness. She never thought that something so small would bother her this much, but here she was, seeking validation from her knuckleheaded little brother.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Will said. “This conversation has taken _such_ a weird turn! You’re sure you’re not sick or anything?”

“I’m not.” Carmilla shifted in her seat. She could feel her hands going a little clammy. This was kind of pathetic. She was trying not to think about it.

“I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Thanks.”

“All right.” Will straightened up in his seat and cleared his throat. “You can be callous, insensitive, and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only person who could do less with your sarcasm, but you were always an attentive sister. You check up on me. You visit me at work –”

“Only ‘cause I have to because of _my_ job, buster,” Carmilla interrupted.

“The point is, the people you’re close to don’t have a reason to feel as if you’re not around or you don’t have time for them,” Will said. “So yeah, you’re an asshole but you’re also a decent person, if that makes sense.”

“It’s really doesn’t.” But it really did, even if Carmilla made a show of snorting dismissively at her brother. “Good effort though, kid. Maybe try harder next time?” she joked.

Will laughed. “Oh, fuck off, Carmilla.”

* * *

**workswithpens**  
I got to class early and most of them are just coming in to sit down now. It’s super weird that we can enter a place like a lecture theatre and know exactly what we need to do. Sit down, get our books out, wait for the lecturer. Nobody gets into a lecture theatre and starts a dance party.

 **workswithpens**  
I should actually try that one day.

 **foucaultofyou**  
I think you’ve been reading too much Foucault.

 **workswithpens**  
Says the one who literally has his name in her username.

 **foucaultofyou**  
I’d rather pay tribute to a post-structuralist than to Aaron Sorkin.

 **workswithpens**  
Ouch.

 **workswithpens**  
But the microlevels of power are sooooo interesting!

* * *

A wave of mild nausea hit Laura as Professor Locke started handing out the midterm booklets. What if she had failed? Sitting the midterm last week wasn’t the horror story that it could have been, but maybe she had gotten too cocky.

“Miss Hollis.” The professor was walking towards her, a sly smile on her face. “Well done.” She slid Laura’s midterm booklet across Laura’s desk.

When she walked away, Laura found the confidence to look it. She flipped right to the last page of the booklet. Written in bright green ink: _Great knowledge of concepts! Would love to see more of analysis of this calibre in your term paper. A-_

Oh god.

Laura took her phone out as soon as she was dismissed and sent Danny a reminder about pie and tea after work. There was some celebrating to be done.

* * *

**workswithpens**  
GUESS WHAT

 **foucaultofyou**  
There better be a fire, cupcake.

 **workswithpens**  
I GOT AN A- ON MY PHILOSOPHY MIDTERM!!!!!

 **foucaultofyou**  
OMG. Well done, you.

 **workswithpens**  
Thanks so much for all your help. I still can’t believe it!

 **foucaultofyou**  
You’re welcome. And now, onto that midterm paper. I read what you’ve sent me so far and it’s promising. I’m a bit busy now so can we talk about it tonight?

 **workswithpens**  
Yeah, sure thing. I should really be working anyway…

 **foucaultofyou**  
Cool. Congrats again.

* * *

Carmilla tucked her phone back in her jacket pocket. She looked at the open doorway of the printing station and braced herself. Perhaps she should have just gone to the postgraduate lounge. Or god forbid, the _library_.

After the hot chocolate disaster of Friday afternoon, she was uncertain of how to act around Printing Station Girl. Should she swagger in like her usual self like nothing happened? Or should she kill her with whatever kindness she could muster?

Pride won out, so… the first one. She held her head high and walked into the printing station, making a beeline for the attendant’s desk. Laura’s gaze was fixed on her phone screen, and she was smiling. But not for long. Carmilla cleared her throat to get her attention.

“Hi, how may I help you?” Laura’s expression didn’t dim one bit when she saw Carmilla standing in front of her. Strange.

Carmilla wasn’t accustomed to Laura looking at her with an expression completely free of annoyance or irritation. She handed Laura her flash drive. “I’ve got a revision worksheet in there that needs printing,” she told her.

“Forty-four copies, right?” Laura asked. She was still chipper. It was like she hadn’t realised that she was talking to Carmilla.

“You got it.”

“All right, gimme a moment,” Laura said. She hummed as she plugged the flash drive into the computer.

Carmilla couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. “You’re in a good mood today,” she said.

Laura turned to her and there was a flash of hardness in her eyes. “Yeah, but let’s not push it,” she said. And then she _laughed_ , before pressing a few buttons on the computer. “Charging it to the philosophy department… and here we go.” From behind her, the printer whirred to life.

“So, did you finally make it official with Xena or what?” Carmilla said.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re so happy,” Carmilla said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smiling this big before.”

“And you’re still as invasive as always,” Laura said. “Can’t a girl have a good day without it being linked to whatever is going on in romantic life?”

Carmilla raised an eyebrow. “So there is a romantic life.”

Laura sighed. “You don’t even know me, Carmilla,” she said. “Why don’t you just enjoy the cheer? And not, you know, ruin it? We were having such a good conversation.”

“I’m trying to _continue_ the conversation here, cupcake,” Carmilla said. “You’re the one acting supremely stubborn about it.” She didn’t even know the reasons why she wanted to press further, but she was determined to succeed.

“Stubborn, that’s me,” Laura said in a singsong voice. She paused. “Wait, what did you just call me?”

“Nothing.” Carmilla waved it off. “I’ll lay off about the smiling, all right?”

“Thank you.”

“I just realised I probably don’t want to know that much about the sordid details of your sex life.”

“Ew!” Laura said, though she didn’t look all that offended. The printer quieted down so she turned to retrieve the handouts. After counting them, she placed them in a plastic sleeve and gave them to Carmilla. “Hey, I’m sorry for what happened on Friday. I was stressed out, and you were trying to be considerate, and you totally didn’t deserve me snapping at you. I was an ungrateful brat.”

Now that Carmilla had heard the apology she thought she wanted to hear from Laura, she could, strangely enough, feel heat rising to her cheeks. “Yeah, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” she said gruffly. She shook the stack of printed paper in her hand and offered Laura a small smile. “You know I can’t do my job without you.”

Laura seemed to shrink into herself. “Come on,” she said with a chuckle. “It’s not like I’m the only printing station attendant at this university.”

“Yeah,” Carmilla said. “But you’re my favourite.” At that point, she wasn’t aware if she was being sarcastic or not. She slipped the handouts inside her bag. “Thanks again. Bye.” With a small wave, she was out of there.

* * *

**foucaultofyou**  
I have a confession to make.

 **workswithpens**  
… okay…

 **foucaultofyou**  
It’s nothing bad.

 **workswithpens**  
Tell me please?

 **foucaultofyou**  
I withheld information from you. You know how I live in Austria? I feel that it’s necessary for me to be a bit more specific. I study in Styria.

 **workswithpens**  
Oh.

 **foucaultofyou**  
Yeah, I study at SilasU as well.

 **workswithpens**  
You’re kidding.

 **foucaultofyou**  
No, I’m really not. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest. I was avoiding getting into details about each other because it’s the internet, right? But I wasn’t expecting to enjoy talking to you this much.

 **workswithpens**  
You enjoy it?

 **foucaultofyou**  
Yes, of course. It’s like. Philosophy is sexy again for me, you know?

 **workswithpens**  
I don’t know why, but I feel flattered. But jeez. You mean we could’ve been crossing into each other’s paths all along? Possibly for the last few years? That’s a wild thought.

* * *

“I never thought the day would come that we would be able to afford a _second_ slice of pie, Hollis.”

“Well,” Laura immediately stuck her fork in the fresh slice, “it _is_ chocolate pie, and I did just get an A minus on my philosophy midterm.” She watched as Danny did the same. “Don’t get used to it, though. Special treat.”

“A minus, huh?”

“Yup!”

Danny laughed. “And you didn’t even have to crack open a book.”

“What can I say?” Laura was laughing now, too. “This is the way of the future.”

“Hey.” Danny inched forward in her seat. “Why don’t we have a proper celebration? I still have some tickets to the Summer Society bash on Friday night, if you’re interested in coming along.”

“My philosophy paper is due on Monday,” Laura said.

“Damn.” Danny frowned. “Can’t take a night off?”

The truth was, Laura was _itching_ for a night off. She had three other courses—fourth year classes at that—on top of her philosophy class, and she can’t recall the last time she went more than two hours without fussing over a piece of coursework. “Perhaps one night won’t hurt,” she said slowly. “And I’ve finished just about finished my essay anyway. I have to wrap up a point then write a conclusion. Then, you know, a lot of polishing.”

“See? That’s great!” Danny said. “I’ll put a ticket aside for you. You can pay me later on.”

“Thanks, Danny.”

“You’re welcome,” Danny said. “Perry and LaFontaine have bought tickets too, so not everyone is going to be a complete stranger.”

“I’ve been at Silas for almost four years now, I’m pretty sure I’ll recognise some people,” Laura said.

“You know what I mean. People that you know you can hang out with?” Danny said. When Laura nodded, she continued speaking with enthusiasm: “The venue we got is _super_ cool. It’s like this big industrial loft space with a wraparound balcony. It’s going to set the standard for the year. The Zetas will have nothing on this party.”

“Ah, but they’ll always have The Anglerfish,” Laura deadpanned.

“Just as well,” Danny said. “Oh, I just remembered something. Did you tell your Tumblr tutor person about your midterm results?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Bet she’s proud of you.”

Laura stirred her tea. “Yeah, she congratulated me,” she said. “It’s funny.”

“What’s funny?” Danny asked.

“I don’t know. This whole thing.” Laura shrugged. “We don’t just talk about philosophy. We talk a bit about other stuff, too. I mean, not personal things, but it’s really interesting. I feel like I know her without having to _know_ the details. Do you understand? It’s silly.”

“Hmm.” Danny stared hard at Laura for a good moment. She took a deep breath before she finally spoke. “God, don’t tell me you have a crush on someone you’ve never even seen.”

“Okay, a _crush_? That’s a stretch.” Not a very far stretch, perhaps, but _definitely_ still a stretch. “I just –” Laura tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, “I just feel like I know her. But then it’s funny, because I actually don’t.”

“Then why don’t you try to get to know her?” Danny asked. “You know, _properly_? Without the cryptic usernames and the blogs and the surreptitious searching for selfies.”

Laura sighed. She felt that Danny would find it laughable if she attempted to describe just how private foucaultofyou was, despite their constant communication and lengthy, almost nightly conversations. She didn’t even believe that the fact that she and Laura were attending the same university was pertinent information!

If only asking questions was _that_ easy. They talked about everything by talking about nothing.

* * *

**workswithpens**  
Looks like my Friday night will be booked, too. I got a ticket to the Summer Society party. I figured, with my midterm grade, I deserve the night off, right?

 **foucaultofyou**  
Of course you do. Full disclosure: I will be at that party, too.

 **workswithpens**  
It’s supposed to be a big night. The venue’s capacity is around 500, apparently.

 **foucaultofyou**  
That’s a decent crowd.

 **workswithpens**  
And that’s an understatement.

 **workswithpens**  
You think we’ll run into each other there?

 **foucaultofyou**  
Maybe. Wouldn’t that be strange? Seeing each other but not knowing.

 **workswithpens**  
Will we ever know each other outside of Tumblr? Outside of Telegram?

 **foucaultofyou**  
I don’t know. Why? Are you not enjoying the mystery?

 **foucaultofyou**  
I’m only attending that party because someone has made me feel obligated to. But honestly? On the off-chance that we run into each other, I’d consider it a worthy reward for being able to grit my teeth and put up with drunken undergrads.

* * *

Carmilla needed a break. She had been writing her ethics term paper for the past hour and the words were starting to blur on the screen. She stood up, stretched and walked to her kitchen to fix herself a cup of coffee. She turned the electric kettle on and leaned back on the counter as she waited.

She couldn’t stop thinking about jane-craig. It was silly; she didn’t even know her name! Carmilla convinced herself that she knew her well enough just by what she revealed on her Tumblr: she was a film and TV nerd, she liked poetry and electropop, and for somebody who lived in Austria, she was too fond of Jessica Williams’s and Rachel Maddow’s takes on American politics. Carmilla had a good read on this girl.

Except that she didn’t. And perhaps she had only herself, and her ridiculous insistence for privacy, to blame for that.

It was no secret that Carmilla was not the type to keep people close. She didn’t maintain it for a cool and mysterious façade. Nor did she shy away from relationships because of some kind of emotional trauma. Carmilla was eternally curious about what people thought about, and what they valued. She always found that people were too occupied with things that seemed inconsequential to her. It was difficult for her to relate to them.

But maybe that was just as a result of being an introverted child with a passive-aggressive workaholic as her sole parent. Or maybe she had been drowning in her own pretentiousness for a long time before she even realised.

Carmilla snorted. Had she resorted to biting, self-deprecating humour _inside_ her head? She hastily spooned instant coffee and sugar into a clean mug and poured the freshly boiled water over it. A dash of soy milk, a final stir, and… perfect. She took the mug back to her desk. On a whim, she opened jane-craig’s Tumblr on her browser.

There weren’t a lot of new posts; Carmilla figured that jane-craig might have been fairly busy, too. The most recent ones were GIFsets from a couple of television shows, and a quote from a novel by Nina LaCour. She read it over and over again.

_How amazing it is to find someone who wants to hear about all the things that go inside your head._

That was when Carmilla discovered that she was smiling. The kind of smile that could only be mustered with a lighter mood. _God_. How amazing, indeed.

* * *

**foucaultofyou**  
So… I’m thinking that we should meet.

 **workswithpens**  
Seriously?

 **foucaultofyou**  
I was reading over your term paper and I can’t fault it much but there are few parts that could use more finesse, I suppose. But I think it’d be better if we properly talked about it in person. The internet is great and all, but sometimes what you need to really lift your academic thinking is a good conversation.

 **workswithpens**  
I totally get that. I’m pretty sure I talked my way into being so good at media studies.

 **foucaultofyou**  
Good? I bet you’re brilliant.

 **workswithpens**  
You don’t even know me.

 **foucaultofyou**  
But I think I’d like the chance to. I’m free Sunday for brunch. What do you say?

 **workswithpens**  
Yeah, that sounds awesome. Do you want to meet at the café outside the School of Humanities?

 **foucaultofyou**  
The one that has the great hot chocolate?

 **workswithpens**  
That’s the one.

 **foucaultofyou**  
Yup, that’s a great place. I’m looking forward to it, cupcake.

 **workswithpens**  
Me too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments on the previous chapters. I have so much fun reading them and I especially love it when people point out specific moments in the chapters or in the development of the story that they really like. I like talking to y'all about the story, so write me a comment or message me on Tumblr (alterocentrist).
> 
> Be sure to check out and share the social media posts (made by my awesome girlfriend) on my Tumblr under the tag #ygmau!


	5. Silas is smaller than you think.

Laura opened her book and looked over her notes from the previous broadcast writing lecture. As always, she was one of the first people in the lecture theatre. The other students filed in one by one, clutching still-steaming takeaway coffee cups and looking mildly offended by the unusually chilly October morning.

Professor Cochrane entered the theatre seven minutes before the class was due to start. She smiled at the people already seated before placing her things down by the lectern. She liked to play Silas University’s student-run radio station, The Voice of Silas, in the background as she set up for the 9AM class.

A woman’s jovial voice filled the room: “Good morning, Silas University! It’s Nazneen here, broadcasting live from SilasU FM’s headquarters. Y’all must be wondering about the freezing weather we’re having this morning. Don’t you worry—winter hasn’t come early. It’s just a cold snap accompanied by fine weather, and it’s expected to last for about four days to give way to showers early next week. I know I’m going to contradict myself, but put your coats on and enjoy the sun! You’ll look fondly upon these next few days when you’re stuck in your dorm rooms in January, no doubt cursing one of Styria’s infamous blizzards.”

The LED on Laura’s phone alerted her to a new message. It was from foucaultofyou: _Fuck, it’s cold out. I think my nose is about to fall off. I hope wherever you are is warmer than where I am, cutie._

_Cutie_? Laura didn’t know what to make of this slight, yet marked, shift in her correspondence with her philosophy tutor. Laura had known and accepted that foucaultofyou was a naturally flirtatious person. She didn’t mind it—oh, who was she kidding? She played along with it. She _enjoyed_ it.

But what did it mean? Laura tried not to stress herself out about it. They were meeting on Sunday. Because the café she suggested was familiar to both of them, she considered it neutral ground. They were going to talk about her essay, and then what?

A message from Danny came through on her phone. It was in the group chat she had set up with Danny, Perry and LaFontaine. _It’s supposed to get up to -4 degrees later tonight. Checked with the venue and their patio heaters are only available on the balcony. Looks like everyone’s gonna be avoiding the rooftop :/_

LaFontaine had replied: _Time to get the SmartWool out! It’ll be awesome!_

Perry responded soon after: _I can’t expect that wearing SmartWool would be comfortable on the dance floor._

Laura chuckled before putting her phone away. A triumphant beam of sunlight was filtered through the windows along the top of the theatre’s windows. It didn’t strike her eyes but it bathed her face with warmth.

She took a deep breath and mentally enumerated what her weekend looked like. Looking at it as a series of events helped assuage her anxieties. She was going to spend tonight with her friends, she would finish her essay tomorrow, and she was going to finally meet foucaultofyou on Sunday. In this beautiful weather. Freezing, but still beautiful. She willed herself not to worry. She was determined to make this weekend a good one.

* * *

As predicted, it was a chilly night, but the turnout was substantial. Carmilla wasn’t surprised. It took a blizzard to deter the students from attending a party, especially one was big as this one. They arrived in raucous groups, shed their outerwear in the large walk-in coat closet, and then lined up at the bar for their drinks.

Carmilla turned up to the party alone. Elsie suggested that they should make their way together, but she had to be one of the first people at the venue to help set up. Carmilla couldn’t imagine spending an hour with Elsie—who was already a handful—and her Summer Society sisters without the distractions that came with a party in progress: low lights, music and booze.

With Elsie having bound off to socialise with some Summers, Carmilla lingered near a wall, drink in hand, taking in the scene in front of her. The action was starting on the dance floor, and thank god, because it cleared up the crowds around the edges. Most of the people who were having drinks and conversations have moved out onto the impressive wraparound balcony, impervious to the cold because of the patio heaters and the alcohol.

A group of guys that were in Carmilla’s sight line walked onto the dance floor. The space where they were standing was soon occupied by Laura and her three redheaded friends. Carmilla straightened up. Laura looked _good_ tonight. She was wearing a short-sleeved dress with a checkered pattern and black sleeves. It was dorky and was suited more for attending a Model UN conference, but perhaps that was why it looked so good on her. Or perhaps it was just the lighting.

Carmilla caught herself. Was she really ogling Printing Station Girl? To be fair, Laura didn’t seem like the type to turn up to such a rowdy event. But then again, she was probably here as Big Red’s date.

_Another_ reason not to ogle.

“Hey, kitty,” someone drawled next to her. “I didn’t know you were gonna be here.”

Carmilla turned to acknowledge Will, who was wearing a ridiculous, form-fitting camo t-shirt. “Neither did I,” she said. “I thought a hard Zeta bro like you wouldn’t be caught dead at a Summers party.”

“We heard there was a humongous bar tab. Seemed like a good deal for a thirty-euro ticket,” Will said, shrugging. “Isn’t that why you’re here, too?”

“A friend asked me to come,” Carmilla said, which wasn’t _completely_ a lie.

“ _Friend_?” Will waggled his eyebrows.

“I am capable of being friends with people, Willy boy. You’d be surprised,” Carmilla said. She placed a hand on his shoulder and maneuvered him so that he could see what she was looking at. “Do you know that girl hanging out with all the carrot tops? Laura something?”

“Yeah, she works with Kirsch at the information commons. Kirsch told me that she’s a fourth year and really nice but he can’t remember what she studies.”

“Interesting,” Carmilla muttered.

“What?” Will asked. “Is she a _friend_ too?”

“If you don’t stop saying ‘friend’ in that tone, I’m going to chuck you over the railing of that balcony.”

Will sneered. “In what tone?”

“I fucking _swear_ , William,” Carmilla said. Younger siblings were such a pain in the ass. She took a deep breath before providing a brief recount about her run-ins with Laura at the printing station. “I was just curious about her deal, that’s all.” It was almost painful to admit how intrigued she had been about Laura, especially to someone who almost always expected her to be utterly indifferent about other people.

“Lemme guess, you haven’t found out because you were too busy being a jerk to her instead of actually having a conversation?”

That caught Carmilla off guard. She rolled her eyes at the growing smirk on Will’s face. “Fuck you.” He was a bigger pain in the ass when he was right.

Will nodded at a Zeta who beckoned him. “I gotta go,” he told Carmilla. “I know you don’t like it when I give you advice –”

“Mostly because it’s useless.”

“– but you know, you should try to be less of a jerk tonight. Things might change.” He walked away from Carmilla to join a group of Zetas, one of whom was holding a beer bong.

“ _Less of a jerk_?” Carmilla yelled, though she was sure nobody, let alone Will, could hear her. “How’s that working out for you?”

* * *

Laura had not attended many parties during her years at Silas, so she didn’t have much to compare to, but she thought tonight was a good one.

“Why don’t we head over to the dance floor?” LaFontaine suggested. They looked over at Perry, who nodded in agreement.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Laura said. “Danny?”

Danny chuckled. “You want me to dance with you, Hollis? We’d look silly.”

It’s true; Laura and Danny looked like they were from different species. But Laura shrugged. “Everyone’s too busy having a good time to think about how they look,” she said. “We should do the same.” And with that, she led her friends to the dance floor. It was busy enough that she could comfortably hide her mediocre dance moves in between much taller and less rhythmically challenged people.

Things were going great until someone’s foot caught on her heel. She stumbled forward slightly. “Oh crap,” she said. She made sure both her feet were firmly on the ground before she turned, ready to apologise. Or to hear out somebody’s apology. But when she faced the culprit, neither option looked plausible. “This university isn’t supposed to be _this_ small,” she groaned.

Carmilla’s expression was a mix of bewildered and amused. She cocked her head. “Holy shit, hey,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trip you up or anything.” To Laura’s surprise, she sounded sincere.

“Uhm, that’s okay.” Laura scratched her head.

“Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone noticed that. It wasn’t much different to what you were doing before.”

_There_ it was. “I decide to go to a party and you’re still here annoying me,” Laura said. “Just my luck.”

Carmilla shrugged. “Silas is smaller than you think.” Laura noticed her blonde Summer Society friend tugging on her hand. Carmilla acknowledged her before addressing Laura again. “I’ll see you around, buttercup.”

“I sure hope not,” Laura muttered as she watched Carmilla leave.

For some reason, now that Laura was aware that Carmilla was at the party, she couldn’t stop seeking her out. She tried to catch glimpses of Carmilla while she was on the dance floor. While she was cooling off on the balcony. While she was waiting to be served at the bar, Kirsch droning at her about finding a space to start a beer pong tournament.

“I don’t think it’s _that_ kind of party,” Laura was telling him, before she finally spotted Carmilla again, emerging from the coat closet with her jacket on. It was only past midnight. Was she leaving already? But no, instead of going out the doors, Carmilla slipped behind a door that was marked “Rooftop Access”.

As soon as the bartender handed over Laura’s drink, she said a hasty goodbye to Kirsch and all but ran into the coat closet. She wasn’t sure what she was doing. She chalked it up to her curiosity. She shrugged her jacket on, and making sure that none of her friends were looking for her, she followed Carmilla.

At the top of the staircase was another door. Laura opened it and was greeted with the cold evening air. The rooftop was a space designed for a party, and it must have been perfect for warmer weather. Perched on a long wooden table under one of the pergolas was Carmilla, a perfect image of coolness in her leather pants, Doc Martens, and navy blue jacket. She exhaled a plume of smoke, then picked up the large jug of beer beside her and took a swig from it. She jerked up a little bit when she heard Laura’s footsteps.

“Won’t your girlfriend miss you?” she asked.

“I’m surprised you’re not with yours,” Laura retorted.

“Who?” Carmilla looked confused for a second. “Oh, you mean Elsie. She’s my neighbour. She’s fun. We’re friends, I guess.”

So that was what it must be like to be Carmilla’s _friend_. “You seem cosy.”

“Are you jealous, Laura?” Carmilla asked. “You better not tell Big Red about this. She seems like the jealous type.”

Laura frowned. “Danny isn’t my girlfriend,” she said deliberately, as if branding it into Carmilla’s brain. “Why do you keep pushing that?”

“I dunno,” Carmilla said. “I just thought that someone like you would either be perpetually single or stuck in boring, monogamous hell.”

“ _Someone like me_? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Uptight. Irritable. Intense.” Carmilla seemed to get more and more cocky with every word.  “I mean, you’re not exactly trying to get people to like you, so I thought you must already have someone. And you know, Big Red looks like she can handle all this.” She gestured vaguely at Laura.

“It’s not like what _you_ do makes people like you anyway!” Laura’s hands balled into fists. Carmilla knew _nothing_ about her. “Or do you just delude people into thinking that you’re a nice person before you start treating them like crap?”

“I don’t delude anyone, I merely use my _devastating charm_ ,” she drawled sarcastically, “instead of being to humans what garlic is to vampires.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” Laura huffed. “Okay, I totally regret coming up here –”

“Didn’t ask you to, sweetheart.”

“ _Screw you_ , Carmilla,” Laura spat out. “I didn’t come up here to fight with you. But once again, you just _freaking_ ruined it. Congratulations, you grade-A _asshole_.” She made her way back to the stairs, as quickly as her legs could take her.

* * *

What Will had told her earlier that night popped back in her mind as she listened to the fading sound of Laura’s hurried footsteps. It was too easy for Carmilla to be an asshole. Laura, her face twisting in that way Carmilla had become familiar with, had gotten as profane as she could probably muster as she made that point across. It was a little bit satisfying.

But Laura didn’t even come here to fight with her.

Sighing, Carmilla put out the herbal cigarette she was smoking, hopped off the table she was sitting on and made an attempt to follow Laura. She called out her name. “Wait up,” she said. “Don’t go back downstairs.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Laura retorted.

“Please?” Carmilla hesitated. She couldn’t quite believe she was going to say what she was about to say: “I want to apologise.” Laura had stopped in her tracks and turned around, like she couldn’t believe it either. “Whatever you’re doing here, you’re trying something that doesn’t involve us breaking out into some epic battle, and I haven’t made that easy for you.”

“You think?”

“I’m sorry,” Carmilla said. She was pleased—no, she was relieved—to see Laura’s expression softening. She gestured back to the table. “I wanna show you something.”

“What is it?” Laura asked.

“Just come with me.” She walked back to the table and resumed her previous position. She waited silently until Laura sat next to her.

“What now?”

Carmilla pointed at the sky. “I was looking forward to this when I heard that it was going to be a clear night,” she said. “This is the best spot in town for looking at the stars. It’s even better in the warmer seasons.”

Once Laura had her gaze on the sky, Carmilla had to smile at her reaction. For once, Printing Station Girl was struck speechless. “Wow,” she finally said. “You know, I’ve been in this town for almost three years and never realised that you can see the stars so clearly.”

“It was one of the things that I first grew to love about Silas,” Carmilla told her. “I grew up spending my time between Salzburg and Munich, where my family had businesses. You don’t see the sky there the way you see them here.”

“I know what you mean,” Laura said. Her hand was absentmindedly playing with the pull tab of her boots, but her eyes never strayed from the stars. “I grew up in Toronto but went to high school outside of Vienna. The city lights definitely have nothing on this.”

“Yeah,” Carmilla said quietly, absorbing the information she learned about Laura while reflection on what she had just told her. “They definitely don’t.”

Laura eventually shifted her gaze to Carmilla. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Are you mean to everyone or do I get special treatment?” Laura asked.

Carmilla leaned back in her chair. “You think I’m mean?”

“Well, you’re definitely annoying,” Laura said.

“So are you.”

Just when Carmilla thought Laura was going to snap again, she simply waved the retort off. “Answer the question.”

“I like getting a reaction out of you, what can I say?” Carmilla admitted. “I remember, at the beginning of the semester, I came by the printing station and you were there. I don’t know. Just something about you. The way you were so eager to do your job right and to do it well. I found that amusing.”

“You’re not exactly a slacker either,” Laura said.

“Yeah, but I don’t take myself that seriously,” Carmilla said. “Anyway, it amused me and once I started going there more frequently, I got into the habit of teasing you. I know you didn’t enjoy it, but I did.”

“My idea of fun doesn’t involve pissing people off.”

Carmilla hummed mock-appreciatively at Laura’s self-righteousness. “Well, aren’t you a better person than I am, buttercup?”

“Nah.” Laura was shaking her head. “I played right into it. I should’ve just killed you with kindness.”

“But that would have been boring,” Carmilla said.

A smile tugged on the corners of Laura’s mouth. “Yeah, it would have been.”

* * *

Having a long, friendly conversation with Carmilla as a party raged on beneath them was the last thing Laura thought she would be doing on a Friday night. It wasn’t like their claws were retracted, they just weren’t used as much. She felt at ease talking to Carmilla, as if this was what they should have been doing for the last month and a half.

Carmilla dug in her pocket for another cigarette. “Want one? It’s herbal.”

Laura politely refused and drank from her glass as she watched Carmilla lighting the cigarette. The bourbon warmed her stomach, and she could feel a light buzz.

“What are you drinking and why is it in a pint glass?” Carmilla asked.

“It’s bourbon iced tea,” Laura said. It was her second one for the night. “And despite my protests, my friend Kirsch managed to convince the bartender to put it in a pint glass.”

Carmilla exhaled a cloud of minty smoke. “You look funny holding such a huge glass.”

“Says the girl drinking beer out of a jug,” Laura said. “That’s got to be at least a litre.”

Carmilla held up the jug to examine it. “Under a litre, I think.” She raised it to her lips and took a big drink. “I didn’t want to keep going back down there for a top-up.”

“Fair enough.”

They listened to the sounds of chanting from the party below.

“I guess Kirsch got his beer pong game,” Laura said. She drank more of her iced tea, then placed the glass down on the table while she stretched her arms. “What time is it?”

Carmilla glanced at her phone. “It’s ten to two.”

“ _Seriously_?” Laura leapt off the table. “Have we really been talking that long?”

“Seems so,” Carmilla said. “What’s wrong?”

“The last bus back to my apartment left at one-thirty,” Laura said. “And I didn’t bring any money for a cab.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Oh man!” she exclaimed. “Of course _this_ had to happen to me!”

“Hey, hey, Laura.” Carmilla was off the table now, too. She placed a tentative, leather-clad arm around Laura. “I’m sure you can sort something out. Do you know anyone who’s driving home?”

Laura shot Carmilla a look. “They’re all drinking,” she said flatly. “And everyone pretty much lives within walking distance. Except for me. I guess I should walk. It’s only around six kilometres, I’d get home in an hour and a half.”

“Laura, no. It’s freezing, and you’ve had a bit to drink.” Carmilla was silent for a moment. Her jaw twitched occasionally, as if she was having a debate with herself. “I live, like, two blocks away, near campus. I mean, my place is pretty small, but I have central heating and there’s a bus stop around the corner.”

“Is this your way of seducing me?” Laura asked. She was only half-joking.

“Okay, buttercup, I have no untoward intentions. You’re stuck here, and we’re both kinda tipsy but I bet it’s already subzero, and I’m offering you a warm place to stay the night,” Carmilla said. “Unless you want to hole up in those shitty campus dorms.”

Laura considered it. Crashing with someone she barely knew—and she kind of disliked before tonight—was not something she would ordinarily do. But then she remembered the kind of state the residence hall bathrooms were in after Friday nights and repressed a shudder. She relented. “Are we leaving now?”

“Yeah, if you want,” Carmilla said. “Elsie told me that the Summers only have the venue until three-thirty and that already includes time for packing up, so they’ll be wrapping up soon downstairs. We won’t miss much that we haven’t already.”

“All right, fine, let’s go.” Laura downed the rest of her drink and cringed at the sudden heat of too much bourbon. She stared at Carmilla, nodding towards the jug of beer. She was pleased when Carmilla accepted the challenge and polished the jug off.

“Okay,” Carmilla said, her voice slightly slurring. She adjusted the cuffs of her jacket sleeves then looked up at Laura. “I’m ready.”

Laura shook the fog from her head and zipped her jacket up. They went down the stairs and skipped past the bouncer onto the sidewalk. Carmilla’s hand was on her arm, leading her towards the direction of the university. At that point, Laura had erupted into irrationally ecstatic giggles. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she told Carmilla.

“Don’t worry, I can’t believe I let myself talk _me_ into this, either.” Carmilla’s response was quiet, and if Laura had been more sober, she would have been able to read into the faint hint of wonder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my favourite chapter to write. Sorry to leave y'all hanging, but the wait shouldn't be too bad! As always, I love reading and replying to your comments. Thanks for keeping up with this story!


	6. You want to relive the good old days already?

The green numbers on her microwave clock flashed 07:45. Carmilla groaned. She wouldn’t be awake this early if she actually slept in her bed. But she didn’t do that because she gallantly offered it to Laura. Even if it was a queen bed, and even if both of them were small enough to fit in it without touching. She stretched as much as she could on her two-seater couch and her back muscles protested. Surely, this was a warning against chivalrous behaviour.

Carmilla sat up, getting a nice view of her big, comfortable bed. Laura was lying on her side, sound asleep, covers to her chin, and her face nuzzled into one of Carmilla’s pillows. God, she was cute. A dork, but cute… wait. Did Carmilla just admit that to herself?

She went to the bathroom to pee and rinse her face. She did a double take when she saw her makeup-free face in the mirror. Right, Laura had reminded her to take it off before she went to bed. Carmilla walked over to her fridge and checked what she had for breakfast. She began to pull ingredients out of her pantry when she heard the rustle of sheets.

“Morning,” Laura said groggily.

Carmilla looked at her. “Morning,” she said. She tried not to notice that Laura was adorable with her hair falling in all directions over her face. It made her want to go over there and gently stroke it back into place. “I hope you like oatmeal.”

“I like anything as long as there’s a lot of sugar in it,” Laura said. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like shit.” Her words were punctuated by the sound of oatmeal being poured into a pot.

“You have a big bed,” Laura said. “Why didn’t you just sleep next to me?”

“I was trying to be a gentlewoman,” Carmilla said. “I didn’t want you to suspect me of coming onto you or anything.”

“Hey, I believed you the first time when you told me that you didn’t have any—what was it that you said?” Laura narrowed her eyes as she tried to remember. “‘Untoward intentions.’” She chuckled.

Carmilla filled the pot with water and set it on the stove. She turned the heat on. “Gentlewoman,” she repeated.

“That couch looks like hell. I wouldn’t have minded if we had slept in the same bed if I had known that you were going to be uncomfortable,” Laura said.

“I’ll make sure to remember that for next time then.” Carmilla didn’t know how, or why, that slipped out, but Laura’s reaction made her immediately regret it. But before Laura could start sputtering, she made a show of putting the kettle on. “Do you want anything to drink? I’m dying for a cup of coffee right now.”

“Uh, do you have any hot chocolate?” Laura asked. “Or tea, tea’s fine. I avoid coffee. It makes me jittery.”

Carmilla raised an eyebrow. “You mean more than you already are?” She watched Laura squirm for a second before she reached into her pantry for her hot chocolate mix. “You’re in luck, buttercup. I only have soy milk though. My stomach goes funny with the real deal.”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Laura said. “Need any help?” She started to get up and out of bed.

That was when Carmilla remembered that she had lent Laura some of her clothes last night: a threadbare SilasU philosophy department t-shirt from her third year, in the university’s crimson, and a pair of grey sweatpants. It really did not help with her attempts to resist her newfound attraction. “No, no, I’m all good,” she said. “Why don’t you sit at the table and wait until I have everything ready? I’ll give you the wifi password.”

But Laura was standing next to her now. “By the way, thanks for letting me crash here, Carm,” she said. “We had way too much fun last night.”

_Carm_? The way Laura said it caused a fluttering in her stomach. Jesus, she didn’t remember feeling this way last night. She needed to get herself together. “What do you mean ‘too much fun’? That was pretty tame by my standards,” Carmilla said. “But you’re welcome. And you’re welcome to crash here anytime.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Laura said wryly. "What if you're, you know,  _occupied_?"

“Contrary to popular belief, I am not that much of a lady killer.”

Laura laughed. “I didn’t say anything like that. But why are you so defensive?”

Carmilla busied herself with fixing Laura her hot chocolate. She poured in a little soy milk and gave it a final stir before handing the mug to Laura. She ignored the sparks that set her brain off as their fingers brushed. “Sit down, shut your face, and drink your hot chocolate.”

* * *

While Carmilla was serving up the bowls of oatmeal, Laura took the chance to look around the studio apartment. It was tidier than she expected, and sparsely furnished. Nothing hung on the walls; the small bookcase and the window ledge were free of ornaments. She got the sense that Carmilla didn’t spend too much time here.

“This is a nice place,” she commented as Carmilla placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of her.

“Yeah, it’s sufficient.” Carmilla sat down across from her and spooned sugar into her bowl before pushing the jar of sugar towards Laura.

Laura stirred the sugar into her oatmeal and then blew into her first spoonful before putting it in her mouth. “So,” she said, after swallowing, “Will’s your brother, huh?” Carmilla’s eyes flicked upwards curiously, and Laura explained: “He and Kirsch are friends.”

“Didn’t you mean _bros_?” Carmilla teased. “But yes, Will is my brother. Half-brother.”

“Did you grow up together?”

“Yeah,” Carmilla said. “Torturing him was a lot of fun.”

“Ah, so he was the one you practiced on, then?” Laura tried to imagine a little version of Carmilla being as sarcastic and insufferable as the one sitting in front of her often was. “Poor kid.”

“Oh, he turned out fine.” Carmilla had a couple of spoonfuls of oatmeal before she spoke again. “How about you? I assume you’re an only child.”

“How do you know that?”

The smile on Carmilla’s face indicated to Laura that she was probably going to say something obnoxious. “You fell asleep smack dab in the middle of that queen bed, and I woke up and you were still in the middle. That tells me you’re not used to sharing.”

“So you’re a psychologist now?” Laura taunted, even if she recognised the truth in what Carmilla said. “I’ve always had my own room as a kid, so I never had to give up space on the bed. I mean, don’t you do the same thing?”

“Yeah, of course, but not so readily,” Carmilla said.

“That doesn’t prove anything though,” Laura responded.

“Okay then.” Carmilla stroked her chin thoughtfully. “What about your headstrong attitude? Your inability to compromise? The way your face bunches up whenever things don’t go your way? You were probably one of those children that people _wished_ had siblings.”

“Excuse me!” Laura’s voice rose to a pitch too high for her liking. “I was known to be a delightful child!”

“Ah, so is that the truth coming out?” Carmilla was laughing, obviously enjoying herself, but not in the old way where she was motivated to drive Laura to her breaking point. “You _are_ an only child!”

“Yes, I am,” Laura admitted. “But I like to think that my father socialised me properly.”

“I don’t think you can say that about any parent, ever,” Carmilla said. “But I do agree with you. Beyond the initial impression, I can see that he didn’t actually do a bad job.”

Laura frowned. “What are you trying to say, Carmilla?”

Carmilla laughed again, but this time, it was fuller, with no restraint. “Relax! It was a compliment.”

“It better be.” Laura glared at her in an attempt to make herself look threatening. But they both knew that it was ineffective, and so they ended up laughing together.

* * *

Carmilla let Laura clean up after breakfast because she repeatedly demanded, and Carmilla didn’t want to know what would happen if she didn’t let Laura get her way on this one. As Laura loaded the dishwasher, she remained seated at the table and surreptitiously checked the messages on her phone. None from jane-craig. She glanced at the time on the microwave. She was probably still asleep.

They got dressed and Carmilla walked Laura to the bus stop. As per the weather forecast, the chill had not subsided, but the sun was out, bathing their surroundings in picture-perfect lighting. From the stop, they could see the beginnings of the Saturday activities on campus. “Waffles and walks of shame,” Carmilla remarked.

“What if they really enjoyed their night?” Laura asked. “Would it still be the walk of shame?”

“I don’t know,” Carmilla shrugged. “I doubt there are fewer things more embarrassing than waking up naked in a stranger’s bed.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” Laura asked. And then she shook her head. “Don’t answer that. I don’t think I want to know.”

Carmilla snorted. “Not a lady killer, buttercup. I already told you that.”

The bus began approaching the stop. Laura turned to Carmilla. “I had a great time last night. Thanks for letting me stay at your place,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” Carmilla said. It registered in her mind that Laura was smiling at her, the way she was smiling at Big Red that Sunday afternoon. Carmilla had trouble thinking of what to say next. Somebody should have warned her that being on the receiving end of Laura’s smile would feel like this. “So,” she finally managed, just as the bus pulled up, “are we going to start hating each other again?”

The doors of the bus hissed open. Laura’s smile had faded slightly. “I didn’t hate you,” she said softly, sincerely. She stepped on the bus and paid her fare. “See you around, Carm.”

“Yeah, see you.” The bus doors closed and it zoomed off onto the road. Carmilla watched as it got further and further away from where she stood. And she couldn’t believe it, but she was looking forward to getting her photocopying done next week.

She stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and made her way back to her apartment. Besides the neatly folded clothes on the corner of her bed, it was like Laura hadn’t even been there at all. She tossed them in the laundry basket as quickly as she could, fully aware that indulging too much in the process would imply that she enjoyed having Laura over more than she cared to admit.

Truth be told, Carmilla was a little confused. It was rare for her to be so out of touch with the direction her impulses were taking her. Something about Laura ignited a fire in her. While their interactions were rocky at best, she knew exactly where she stood. There was balance in the push and pull between them—but what did it mean?

She sat down on the couch and absently checked her phone. There was a message from jane-craig on Telegram: _Hey, are we still on for brunch tomorrow?_

For the first time in her life, Carmilla welcomed the distraction of setting up a social appointment. _Sure. Meet you 11am outside the café?_

The reply came instantaneously: _Sounds good! See you then._

Carmilla’s excitement for meeting jane-craig felt more valid to her than whatever her deal was with Laura. After all, they had been talking for a number of weeks, and although she was a philosophy newbie, she was eager to learn and they had many invigorating discussions. It was natural for Carmilla to want to know more about this stranger. And the one thing she learned from spending last night with Laura was that it was about time for her to take that chance.

A wave of exhaustion came upon her, and she remembered how much her muscles were aching. She took a hot shower, and afterwards, promptly collapsed facedown on her bed. She tried to ignore how much it smelled like Laura.

* * *

It was still early when Laura arrived on campus, so she killed time by walking around. She enjoyed the cool breeze on her face and the crunching of leaves underneath her boots. She watched as people crossed the quads, the grass they were walking on covered in frost. She listened to the sounds coming from the cafeteria: the clink of cutleries against plates and the dull thud of footsteps on carpeted floors. It was another beautiful day.

Eventually, Laura walked over to the café at the School of Humanities, ten minutes before she was due to meet foucaultofyou. She peered inside. The line to the counter was getting long, and almost all of the tables were occupied. Laura swallowed nervously. Maybe they could just move somewhere less packed.

“Laura?”

Laura sought out the direction of the voice. At one of the outside tables sat Carmilla, reading a newspaper. She was wearing sunglasses, but Laura could tell, oddly enough, that her smile reached her eyes. “Carmilla, hey,” she said. “What brings you here?”

“They have good brunch,” Carmilla said. She stretched out a leg—she was wearing purple jeans—and nudged the empty chair next to her with her foot. “Come sit.”

“All right.” Laura obliged. “But I can’t stay. I’m just waiting for someone.” She noticed that Carmilla only had a cup of black tea in front of her. “What did you order?”

“Nothing yet.” Carmilla glanced at the time on her phone screen. “I’m waiting for someone, too. I’m not that hungry anyway. Anyway, you got home okay yesterday?”

“Well, clearly,” Laura said. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, great, that’s excellent,” Carmilla said.

Laura noted that in any of their conversations, Carmilla had never uttered so many redundant words in succession before. She looked at the cup of tea again. It had hardly been touched. The newspaper? It was open to the business section, which Laura distinctly remembered Carmilla ranting about on the rooftop on Friday night. She realised that Carmilla was anxious about something. “Are you meeting your thesis supervisor?”

“Huh?” Carmilla frowned. “No?”

“You just seem a bit on edge, that’s all.”

“Keen powers of observation, Lois Lane,” Carmilla said wryly. She bit her lip. “But no, I’m not meeting my supervisor. I’m meeting a girl. Kind of.”

“Kind of meeting her or kind of a girl?”

Carmilla sighed. She was probably rolling her eyes behind her sunglasses. “The former.”

A slightly unpleasant sensation tugged at the back of Laura’s mind. For all her teasing about Carmilla’s way with women, a part of her didn’t actually want it to be true. Not after the other night. “Awesome!” she said, with the requisite enthusiasm. “So, like a date?”

“Not a date. But, she’s a bit a different than a friend,” Carmilla replied. “Hence the ‘kind of.’” She was shaking her head. “You know what? Let’s change the subject. Who are _you_ meeting here today? Big Red?”

“Danny isn’t my only friend, you know.”

“Okay,” Carmilla said. “The Smaller Reds, then.”

“No!” Laura said. “It’s not any of them. It’s someone I asked for help on this thing for class. Speaking of which,” she took her phone out of her jacket pocket to check the time, “she should be here real soon. Hang on, I’ll check where she's at.” She keyed in a brief message to foucaultofyou, pressed send, and placed the phone down on the table.

And then Carmilla’s phone beeped.

They looked at each other with wide eyes.

Carmilla gingerly picked her phone up. Her jaw tightened as the read the message. She took her sunglasses off and stared hard at Laura. “Um,” she said after a moment, “workswithpens? jane-craig?”

Laura’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. “ _You’re_ foucaultofyou?”

* * *

Holy shit.

_Holy shit._

Holy shit!

Carmilla didn’t know whether to smash her cup of tea on the ground, run away, or grab Laura by the lapels of her jacket and kiss her like she wanted to several times over the course of Friday night. And Saturday morning. She snapped herself out of it. This was the absolute wrong time to think about kissing Laura.

She watched as different emotions flitted across Laura’s face, ranging from shock, to something she can’t quite discern, and eventually, to panic. “Well, this is weird,” she said.

“ _Weird_? Of all the words you can think of, the first one that comes to you is _weird_?” Laura sputtered. “Of course! You’re a snarky, cynical philosophy grad student with a tendency to flirt. How did I not this work this out sooner?”

“Hey.” Carmilla straightened up. “That is a less specific description than overly cheerful, Habermas-hating nerd obsessed with Rachel Maddow.”

“We didn’t even talk about Rachel Maddow during the party!”

“You waxed lyrically about how you wanted to verbally eviscerate Habermas on the off-chance that he comes to deliver a guest lecture at Silas,” Carmilla said. “Also, you’re a lesbian media studies major. Liking Rachel Maddow is a given.”

Laura’s eyes ran over her, still frantic, but Carmilla couldn’t help but like the attention. “Black hair, brown eyes…” she said. “Holy crap.”

Carmilla shrugged. “Told you that you couldn’t pick me out of a lineup,” she said.

“I can’t believe this –”

“Neither can I, cupcake.”

“ _Cupcake_!” Laura exclaimed. “It was right in my face all along!”

“And you want to be a journalist,” Carmilla said.

“Well, you didn’t figure it out either!”

“I’m not the one who wants to be a journalist.” Carmilla was as surprised as Laura was, but poking fun at Laura’s reaction seemed like the right activity to suppress her fight or flight response while she digested this revelation.

Laura leaned back in her chair. She let out a long, loud exhale. “Sorry,” she sounded much calmer now, “I’m a bit overwhelmed.”

“Me too,” Carmilla admitted. “We knew each other all this time.”

“And hated each other,” Laura said.

“I never hated you, Laura.” Carmilla’s head started to spin. Printing Station Girl was jane-craig, the girl who helped her remember why she enjoyed philosophy. Printing Station Girl was also Laura, the girl she never expected would be the perfect companion for a cold Friday night under the stars.

And, as of five minutes ago, Laura was jane-craig.

And it made sense.

“Really?” Laura held her gaze, and that was when Carmilla noticed how the sunlight brought out the gold flecks in her hazel eyes.

“Really,” Carmilla said. She reached into her bag for her wallet. “I’ll get us something to eat and then we can have a look over your philosophy paper, okay? You like waffles, right?”

Laura perked up for the first time since she realised Carmilla was her internet philosophy tutor. “I _love_ waffles.”

* * *

foucaultofyou really sold herself short when she described herself to Laura in one of their first conversations. “Nothing to write home about”? She looked like Carmilla!

Well, she happened to _be_ Carmilla.

Laura couldn’t stop watching Carmilla as she pored over the draft of her philosophy paper. She had a pen in her mouth, which she would relinquish to her hand whenever she had to make an annotation. Laura was finishing off the last of her hot chocolate when Carmilla finally put the pen down on the table.

“So?” Laura asked.

“Looks good. I do have a couple of things written here, though,” Carmilla said. She flipped the paper around and pointed to a couple of paragraphs that were marked with blue ink. “Have another think about how you’ve arranged the argument in those two paragraphs there. I think you make a good point but you’ve got to build it up and develop it, you know? Not just spit out what you know. I mean, yeah, Locke will think that you’re clever and you know shit, but the point won’t stick. And it’s a good point, so it needs to stick.”

Laura nodded. “And the rest?”

“Honestly?” Carmilla smiled. “I’m impressed.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Laura said. “Even if you were a pain in the ass in real life.”

They continued talking over the next few hours. At first, it was just about Nietzsche, and Laura’s term paper, and eventually they started talking about the lack of women philosophers in the syllabus. In the middle of a segue into a discussion about the post Carmilla wrote on Machiavelli and hegemonic masculinity in _Game of Thrones_ , Laura got up to buy more hot chocolate for the two of them. They easily picked up where they left off as soon as she returned.

Laura was somewhat endeared by the enthusiasm underneath Carmilla’s prickly façade. Carmilla knew an awful lot of things about an awful lot of things, and she delighted in being able to talk about them at length in a droll, reflexive manner. Of course, Laura should have known that already from her correspondence with Carmilla’s online alter-ego. The initial shock from realising the coincidence had subsided, and all Laura could think about was how this felt like a natural progression.

A glance at her phone told her that she had fifteen minutes before her shift. “Hey, Carm, I’ve gotta go to work soon,” she said. She reached for her term paper and placed it in her bag. “This has been –”

“A surprise?” Carmilla said.

“A _pleasant_ one,” Laura emphasised. “Thanks so much for everything. Well, maybe not the constant testing of my temper at work, but you know… for everything else. The philosophy help, the party, the brunch. Jeez, this is weird, that I’m saying these things. I mean, this doesn’t happen every day.”

“It really doesn’t,” Carmilla said. She ducked her head—oh god, was she getting _shy_?—before saying, in a quieter voice, “Would you think I was silly if I said that I’m glad this happened?”

“Of course not,” Laura said. But when Carmilla glared at her, she corrected herself: “Oh, I’d think you were _ridiculous_. Get it together, Carmilla.”

“Good.” Carmilla put her sunglasses back on. It was obvious that she was trying to fight a smile. “I’ll walk you to the information commons.”

That caught Laura off guard. “You don’t have to.”

“I was planning to come by and annoy you anyway, you know, for old times’ sake,” Carmilla said. “I might as well make it one trip.”

They were standing now, adjusting jackets and slinging bags on their shoulders. Carmilla stepped forward but Laura stayed in place, and the space between them dramatically decreased.

“You want to relive the good old days already?” Laura asked. “That’s… efficient.”

“You don’t? But we had so much fun, cupcake,” Carmilla said.

Laura, too aware of how close Carmilla’s body was to hers, was thinking of things that would be so much more fun. She cleared her throat. “I don’t wanna be late.” She started walking, and Carmilla had to catch up to her. When they reached the entrance of the information commons, Laura stopped outside the doors, and Carmilla did too. “Are you coming in?” Laura asked her.

“Nah. I don’t want you to get sick of me.”

“I think we already passed that point weeks ago,” Laura said. “You made it very hard for me _not_ to get sick of you.

“Ah,” Carmilla took a step towards her, “so that’s how you really feel.”

“W–well.” Laura breathed deeply and got a lungful of the scent of Carmilla’s shampoo. “I’ve managed to build up a sufficient level of tolerance.”

Carmilla was smirking now, fully aware of the effect she was having on Laura. “Does that tolerance extend to seeing more of me outside of that stuffy printing station?” she asked.

“Carmilla, are you asking me out?”

“Maybe.” At least she had the decency to look slightly embarrassed by her forthrightness.

“Then yes,” Laura felt a grin coming on, “I can deal with that.” She jerked her thumb towards the information commons door. “I really need to go to work. I’ll talk to you later?”

“One last thing,” Carmilla said.

“What?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Laura answered her by placing a hand on Carmilla’s arm, just above her elbow, and closing the distance between them. She pressed her lips to Carmilla’s. They were slightly chapped, yet soft, and still had hints of the two mugs of soy hot chocolate she had at brunch. Carmilla’s hand cupped her cheek, and their lips moved slowly against each other, before pulling away. “You have no idea how good it felt to do that,” Laura breathed. Then she noticed the uncharacteristically dopey look on Carmilla’s face, and she’d never admit it, but that made her proud. “Or maybe you do.”

“Oh, I do,” Carmilla said. She leaned in for another one. Quick, chaste, yet at the same time, a promise. She smiled at Laura and ran her thumb along Laura’s jawline. “I’ll talk to you later, cupcake.” She turned around and walked out the way they came in.

And for once, Laura didn’t mind the stupid nickname at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! I hope that ending was as a satisfying read as it was a satisfying one for me to write. I enjoyed planning, writing and publishing/promoting every bit of this fic. Thank you for the kudos and the comments. I loved talking about the fic to y'all, whether it be in a comment or on my Tumblr ask box. [Keep in touch!](http://alterocentrist.tumblr.com) I'll probably post something about my next multichap fic real soon...

**Author's Note:**

> I've finished writing all the installments of this fic, so I'll be uploading twice a week. This is the most fun I've ever had working on fanfiction, and I'm so excited that I can finally share it with y'all. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I do. You can talk to me on Tumblr, my URL is alterocentrist.
> 
> (Special thanks to my girlfriend for making up the accompanying social media posts for me—you're a star!)


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